Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte Deluxe Edition Chapter 12.

The promise of a smooth career, which my first calm introduction
to Thornfield Hall seemed to pledge, was not belied on a longer
acquaintance with the place and its inmates. Mrs. Fairfax turned
out to be what she appeared, a placidtempered, kind natured woman,
of competent education and average intelligence. My pupil was a
lively child, who had been spoilt and indulged, and therefore was
sometimes wayward; but as she was committed entirely to my care,
and no injudicious interference from any quarter ever thwarted my
plans for her improvement, she soon forgot her little freaks, and
became obedient and teachable. She had no great talents, no marked
traits of character, no peculiar development of feeling or taste
which raised her one inch above the ordinary level of childhood;
but neither had she any deficiency or vice which sunk her below
it. She made reasonable progress, entertained for me a vivacious,
though perhaps not very profound, affection; and by her simplicity,
gay prattle, and efforts to please, inspired me, in return, with a degree
of attachment sufficient to make us both content in each other's society.

This, par parenthese, will be thought cool language by persons who
entertain solemn doctrines about the angelic nature of children,
and the duty of those charged with their education to conceive
for them an idolatrous devotion: but I am not writing to flatter
parental egotism, to echo cant, or prop up humbug; I am merely
telling the truth. I felt a conscientious solicitude for Adele's
welfare and progress, and a quiet liking for her little self: just
as I cherished towards Mrs. Fairfax a thankfulness for her kindness,
and a pleasure in her society proportionate to the tranquil regard
she had for me, and the moderation of her mind and character.

Anybody may blame me who likes, when I add further, that, now and
then, when I took a walk by myself in the grounds; when I went
down to the gates and looked through them along the road; or when,
while Adele played with her nurse, and Mrs. Fairfax made jellies in
the storeroom, I climbed the three staircases, raised the trapdoor
of the attic, and having reached the leads, looked out afar over
sequestered field and hill, and along dim skyline that then
I longed for a power of vision which might overpass that limit;
which might reach the busy world, towns, regions full of life I had
heard of but never seen that then I desired more of practical
experience than I possessed; more of intercourse with my kind, of
acquaintance with variety of character, than was here within my
reach. I valued what was good in Mrs. Fairfax, and what was good
in Adele; but I believed in the existence of other and more vivid
kinds of goodness, and what I believed in I wished to behold.

Who blames me? Many, no doubt; and I shall be called discontented.
I could not help it: the restlessness was in my nature; it agitated
me to pain sometimes. Then my sole relief was to walk along the
corridor of the third storey, backwards and forwards, safe in the
silence and solitude of the spot, and allow my mind's eye to dwell
on whatever bright visions rose before it and, certainly, they
were many and glowing; to let my heart be heaved by the exultant
movement, which, while it swelled it in trouble, expanded it
with life; and, best of all, to open my inward ear to a tale that
was never ended a tale my imagination created, and narrated
continuously; quickened with all of incident, life, fire, feeling,
that I desired and had not in my actual existence.

It is in vain to say human beings ought to be satisfied with
tranquillity: they must have action; and they will make it if
they cannot find it. Millions are condemned to a stiller doom than
mine, and millions are in silent revolt against their lot. Nobody
knows how many rebellions besides political rebellions ferment in
the masses of life which people earth. Women are supposed to be
very calm generally: but women feel just as men feel; they need
exercise for their faculties, and a field for their efforts, as
much as their brothers do; they suffer from too rigid a restraint,
too absolute a stagnation, precisely as men would suffer; and it
is narrowminded in their more privileged fellow creatures to say
that they ought to confine themselves to making puddings and knitting
stockings, to playing on the piano and embroidering bags. It is
thoughtless to condemn them, or laugh at them, if they seek to do
more or learn more than custom has pronounced necessary for their sex.

When thus alone, I not unfrequently heard Grace Poole's laugh: the
same peal, the same low, slow ha! ha! which, when first heard,
had thrilled me: I heard, too, her eccentric murmurs; stranger
than her laugh. There were days when she was quite silent; but
there were others when I could not account for the sounds she made.
Sometimes I saw her: she would come out of her room with a basin,
or a plate, or a tray in her hand, go down to the kitchen and
shortly return, generally (oh, romantic reader, forgive me for
telling the plain truth!) bearing a pot of porter. Her appearance
always acted as a damper to the curiosity raised by her oral oddities:
hardfeatured and staid, she had no point to which interest could
attach. I made some attempts to draw her into conversation, but
she seemed a person of few words: a monosyllabic reply usually
cut short every effort of that sort.

The other members of the household, viz., John and his wife, Leah
the housemaid, and Sophie the French nurse, were decent people;
but in no respect remarkable; with Sophie I used to talk French,
and sometimes I asked her questions about her native country; but
she was not of a descriptive or narrative turn, and generally gave
such vapid and confused answers as were calculated rather to check
than encourage inquiry.

October, November, December passed away. One afternoon in January,
Mrs. Fairfax had begged a holiday for Adele, because she had a cold;
and, as Adele seconded the request with an ardour that reminded me
how precious occasional holidays had been to me in my own childhood,
I accorded it, deeming that I did well in showing pliability on the
point. It was a fine, calm day, though very cold; I was tired of
sitting still in the library through a whole long morning: Mrs.
Fairfax had just written a letter which was waiting to be posted,
so I put on my bonnet and cloak and volunteered to carry it to
Hay; the distance, two miles, would be a pleasant winter afternoon
walk. Having seen Adele comfortably seated in her little chair by
Mrs. Fairfax's parlour fireside, and given her her best wax doll
(which I usually kept enveloped in silver paper in a drawer) to
play with, and a storybook for change of amusement; and having
replied to her "Revenez bientot, ma bonne amie, ma chere
Mademoiselle Jeannette," with a kiss I set out.

The ground was hard, the air was still, my road was lonely; I
walked fast till I got warm, and then I walked slowly to enjoy and
analyse the species of pleasure brooding for me in the hour and
situation. It was three o'clock; the church bell tolled as I passed
under the belfry: the charm of the hour lay in its approaching
dimness, in the lowgliding and palebeaming sun. I was a mile
from Thornfield, in a lane noted for wild roses in summer, for nuts
and blackberries in autumn, and even now possessing a few coral
treasures in hips and haws, but whose best winter delight lay in
its utter solitude and leafless repose. If a breath of air stirred,
it made no sound here; for there was not a holly, not an evergreen
to rustle, and the stripped hawthorn and hazel bushes were as still
as the white, worn stones which causewayed the middle of the path.
Far and wide, on each side, there were only fields, where no cattle
now browsed; and the little brown birds, which stirred occasionally
in the hedge, looked like single russet leaves that had forgotten to drop.

This lane inclined uphill all the way to Hay; having reached
the middle, I sat down on a stile which led thence into a field.
Gathering my mantle about me, and sheltering my hands in my muff,
I did not feel the cold, though it froze keenly; as was attested
by a sheet of ice covering the causeway, where a little brooklet,
now congealed, had overflowed after a rapid thaw some days since.
From my seat I could look down on Thornfield: the grey and
battlemented hall was the principal object in the vale below me;
its woods and dark rookery rose against the west. I lingered till
the sun went down amongst the trees, and sank crimson and clear
behind them. I then turned eastward.

On the hilltop above me sat the rising moon; pale yet as a cloud,
but brightening momentarily, she looked over Hay, which, half lost
in trees, sent up a blue smoke from its few chimneys: it was yet
a mile distant, but in the absolute hush I could hear plainly its
thin murmurs of life. My ear, too, felt the flow of currents; in
what dales and depths I could not tell: but there were many hills
beyond Hay, and doubtless many becks threading their passes. That
evening calm betrayed alike the tinkle of the nearest streams, the
sough of the most remote.

A rude noise broke on these fine ripplings and whisperings, at
once so far away and so clear: a positive tramp, tramp, a metallic
clatter, which effaced the soft wavewanderings; as, in a picture,
the solid mass of a crag, or the rough boles of a great oak, drawn
in dark and strong on the foreground, efface the aerial distance of
azure hill, sunny horizon, and blended clouds where tint melts into tint.

The din was on the causeway: a horse was coming; the windings of
the lane yet hid it, but it approached. I was just leaving the
stile; yet, as the path was narrow, I sat still to let it go by.
In those days I was young, and all sorts of fancies bright and
dark tenanted my mind: the memories of nursery stories were there
amongst other rubbish; and when they recurred, maturing youth added
to them a vigour and vividness beyond what childhood could give.
As this horse approached, and as I watched for it to appear through
the dusk, I remembered certain of Bessie's tales, wherein figured a
North of England spirit called a "Gytrash," which, in the form of horse,
mule, or large dog, haunted solitary ways, and sometimes came upon
belated travellers, as this horse was now coming upon me.

It was very near, but not yet in sight; when, in addition to the
tramp, tramp, I heard a rush under the hedge, and close down by the
hazel stems glided a great dog, whose black and white colour made
him a distinct object against the trees. It was exactly one form
of Bessie's Gytrash a lionlike creature with long hair and
a huge head: it passed me, however, quietly enough; not staying
to look up, with strange pretercanine eyes, in my face, as I half
expected it would. The horse followed, a tall steed, and on its
back a rider. The man, the human being, broke the spell at once.
Nothing ever rode the Gytrash: it was always alone; and goblins,
to my notions, though they might tenant the dumb carcasses of
beasts, could scarce covet shelter in the commonplace human form.
No Gytrash was this, only a traveller taking the short cut to Millcote.

He passed, and I went on; a few steps, and I turned: a sliding
sound and an exclamation of "What the deuce is to do now?"
and a clattering tumble, arrested my attention. Man and horse
were down; they had slipped on the sheet of ice which glazed the
causeway. The dog came bounding back, and seeing his master in a
predicament, and hearing the horse groan, barked till the evening hills
echoed the sound, which was deep in proportion to his magnitude.
He snuffed round the prostrate group, and then he ran up to me;
it was all he could do, there was no other help at hand to summon.

I obeyed him, and walked down to the traveller, by this
time struggling himself free of his steed. his efforts were so vigorous,
I thought he could not be much hurt; but I asked him the question,
"Are you injured, sir?" I think he was swearing, but am not certain;
however, he was pronouncing some formula which prevented him from
replying to me directly. "Can I do anything?" I asked again.

"You must just stand on one side," he answered as he rose, first to
his knees, and then to his feet. I did; whereupon began a heaving,
stamping, clattering process, accompanied by a barking and baying
which removed me effectually some yards' distance; but I would
not be driven quite away till I saw the event. This was finally
fortunate; the horse was reestablished, and the dog was silenced with
a "Down, Pilot!" The traveller now, stooping, felt his foot and leg,
as if trying whether they were sound; apparently something ailed them,
for he halted to the stile whence I had just risen, and sat down.

I was in the mood for being useful, or at least officious, I think,
for I now drew near him again. "If you are hurt, and want help,
sir, I can fetch some one either from Thornfield Hall or from Hay."
"Thank you: I shall do: I have no broken bones, only a sprain;"
and again he stood up and tried his foot, but the result extorted
an involuntary "Ugh!"

Something of daylight still lingered, and the moon was waxing
bright: I could see him plainly. his figure was enveloped in a
riding cloak, fur collared and steel clasped; its details were not
apparent, but I traced the general points of middle height and
considerable breadth of chest. He had a dark face, with stern
features and a heavy brow; his eyes and gathered eyebrows looked
ireful and thwarted just now; he was past youth, but had not reached
middle age; perhaps he might be thirty five. I felt no fear of
him, and but little shyness. Had he been a handsome, heroic looking
young gentleman, I should not have dared to stand thus questioning
him against his will, and offering my services unasked. I had
hardly ever seen a handsome youth; never in my life spoken to one.
I had a theoretical reverence and homage for beauty, elegance,
gallantry, fascination; but had I met those qualities incarnate
in masculine shape, I should have known instinctively that they
neither had nor could have sympathy with anything in me, and should
have shunned them as one would fire, lightning, or anything else
that is bright but antipathetic.

If even this stranger had smiled and been good humoured to me when
I addressed him; if he had put off my offer of assistance gaily and
with thanks, I should have gone on my way and not felt any vocation
to renew inquiries: but the frown, the roughness of the traveller, set me
at my ease: I retained my station when he waved to me to go, and announced
"I cannot think of leaving you, sir, at so late an hour, in this solitary lane,
till I see you are fit to mount your horse." He looked at me when I said this;
he had hardly turned his eyes in my direction before.

"I should think you ought to be at home yourself," said he, "if
you have a home in this neighbourhood: where do you come from?"
"From just below; and I am not at all afraid of being out late when
it is moonlight: I will run over to Hay for you with pleasure, if
you wish it: indeed, I am going there to post a letter." "You live just
below do you mean at that house with the battlements?" pointing
to Thornfield Hall, on which the moon cast a hoary gleam, bringing
it out distinct and pale from the woods that, by contrast with the
western sky, now seemed one mass of shadow. "Yes, sir." "Whose
house is it?" "Mr. Rochester's." "Do you know Mr. Rochester?"
"No, I have never seen him." "He is not resident, then?"
"No." "Can you tell me where he is?" "I cannot."

"You are not a servant at the hall, of course. You are "
He stopped, ran his eye over my dress, which, as usual, was quite
simple: a black merino cloak, a black beaver bonnet; neither of them
half fine enough for a lady's maid. He seemed puzzled to decide what
I was; I helped him. "I am the governess." "Ah, the governess!" he
repeated; "deuce take me, if I had not forgotten! The governess!"
and again my raiment underwent scrutiny. In two minutes he rose
from the stile: his face expressed pain when he tried to move.

"I cannot commission you to fetch help," he said; "but you may help
me a little yourself, if you will be so kind." "Yes, sir." "You have not
an umbrella that I can use as a stick?" "No." "Try to get hold of
my horse's bridle and lead him to me: you are not afraid?"
I should have been afraid to touch a horse when alone, but when
told to do it, I was disposed to obey. I put down my muff on the
stile, and went up to the tall steed; I endeavoured to catch the
bridle, but it was a spirited thing, and would not let me come
near its head; I made effort on effort, though in vain: meantime,
I was mortally afraid of its trampling forefeet. The traveller
waited and watched for some time, and at last he laughed.

"I see," he said, "the mountain will never be brought to Mahomet,
so all you can do is to aid Mahomet to go to the mountain; I must
beg of you to come here." I came. "Excuse me," he continued:
"necessity compels me to make you useful." He laid a heavy hand
on my shoulder, and leaning on me with some stress, limped to his
horse. Having once caught the bridle, he mastered it directly and
sprang to his saddle; grimacing grimly as he made the effort, for it
wrenched his sprain. "Now," said he, releasing his under lip from a
hard bite, "just hand me my whip; it lies there under the hedge."

I sought it and found it. "Thank you; now make haste with the letter to
Hay, and return as fast as you can." A touch of a spurred heel made his
horse first start and rear, and then bound away; the dog rushed in his
traces; all three vanished, "Like heath that, in the wilderness, The wild
wind whirls away." I took up my muff and walked on. The incident had
occurred and was gone for me: it WAS an incident of no moment, no
romance, no interest in a sense; yet it marked with change one single hour
of a monotonous life. My help had been needed and claimed; I had given it:
I was pleased to have done something; trivial, transitory though the deed
was, it was yet an active thing, and I was weary of an existence all passive.

The new face, too, was like a new picture introduced to the gallery
of memory; and it was dissimilar to all the others hanging there: firstly,
because it was masculine; and, secondly, because it was dark, strong,
and stern. I had it still before me when I entered Hay, and slipped
the letter into the post office; I saw it as I walked fast downhill all
the way home. When I came to the stile, I stopped a minute, looked
round and listened, with an idea that a horse's hoofs might ring on the
causeway again, and that a rider in a cloak, and a Gytrash like
Newfoundland dog, might be again apparent: I saw only the hedge
and a pollard willow before me, rising up still and straight to
meet the moonbeams; I heard only the faintest waft of wind roaming
fitful among the trees round Thornfield, a mile distant; and when
I glanced down in the direction of the murmur, my eye, traversing
the hallfront, caught a light kindling in a window: it reminded
me that I was late, and I hurried on.

I did not like reentering Thornfield. To pass its threshold was
to return to stagnation; to cross the silent hall, to ascend the
darksome staircase, to seek my own lonely little room, and then to
meet tranquil Mrs. Fairfax, and spend the long winter evening with
her, and her only, was to quell wholly the faint excitement wakened
by my walk, to slip again over my faculties the viewless fetters
of an uniform and too still existence; of an existence whose
very privileges of security and ease I was becoming incapable of
appreciating. What good it would have done me at that time to have
been tossed in the storms of an uncertain struggling life, and to
have been taught by rough and bitter experience to long for the
calm amidst which I now repined! Yes, just as much good as it
would do a man tired of sitting still in a "too easy chair" to take
a long walk: and just as natural was the wish to stir, under my
circumstances, as it would be under his.

I lingered at the gates; I lingered on the lawn; I paced backwards
and forwards on the pavement; the shutters of the glass door were
closed; I could not see into the interior; and both my eyes and
spirit seemed drawn from the gloomy house from the greyhollow
filled with rayless cells, as it appeared to me to that sky
expanded before me, a blue sea absolved from taint of cloud;
the moon ascending it in solemn march; her orb seeming to look up
as she left the hilltops, from behind which she had come, far and
farther below her, and aspired to the zenith, midnight dark in its
fathomless depth and measureless distance; and for those trembling
stars that followed her course; they made my heart tremble, my
veins glow when I viewed them. Little things recall us to earth;
the clock struck in the hall; that sufficed; I turned from moon
and stars, opened a sidedoor, and went in.

The hall was not dark, nor yet was it lit, only by the highhung
bronze lamp; a warm glow suffused both it and the lower steps of the
oak staircase. This ruddy shine issued from the great diningroom,
whose twoleaved door stood open, and showed a genial fire in the
grate, glancing on marble hearth and brass fireirons, and revealing
purple draperies and polished furniture, in the most pleasant radiance.
It revealed, too, a group near the mantelpiece: I had scarcely caught it,
and scarcely become aware of a cheerful mingling of voices, amongst
which I seemed to distinguish the tones of Adele, when the door closed.

I hastened to Mrs. Fairfax's room; there was a fire there too,
but no candle, and no Mrs. Fairfax. Instead, all alone, sitting
upright on the rug, and gazing with gravity at the blaze, I beheld
a great black and white longhaired dog, just like the Gytrash of
the lane. It was so like it that I went forward and said "Pilot"
and the thing got up and came to me and snuffed me. I caressed
him, and he wagged his great tail; but he looked an eerie creature
to be alone with, and I could not tell whence he had come. I
rang the bell, for I wanted a candle; and I wanted, too, to get an
account of this visitant. Leah entered. "What dog is this?"

"He came with master." "With whom?" "With master Mr. Rochester
he is just arrived." "Indeed! and is Mrs. Fairfax with him?" "Yes, and
Miss Adele; they are in the diningroom, and John is gone for a surgeon;
for master has had an accident; his horse fell and his ankle is sprained."
"Did the horse fall in Hay Lane?" "Yes, coming downhill; it slipped on
some ice." "Ah! Bring me a candle will you Leah?"

Leah brought it; she entered, followed by Mrs. Fairfax, who repeated
the news; adding that Mr. Carter the surgeon was come, and was now
with Mr. Rochester: then she hurried out to give orders about tea,
and I went upstairs to take off my things.

Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte Deluxe Edition Chapter 13.>